


Don't Take That Sinner From Me

by dismalzelenka



Series: Bard Songs: A Songfic Collection [3]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Brush With Death, F/M, Gen, Song fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-04
Updated: 2018-01-04
Packaged: 2019-02-28 08:20:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13267467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dismalzelenka/pseuds/dismalzelenka
Summary: Hawke's fallen in love with a man on the run and finds herself turning into a praying woman as they struggle to survive hiding in the wilderness. Part of my song fic serie, based on verses from Devil's Backbone by The Civil Wars.





	Don't Take That Sinner From Me

**Author's Note:**

> Oh Lord, Oh Lord, what have I done?  
> I’ve fallen in love with a man on the run.  
> Oh Lord, Oh Lord, I’m begging you please,  
> Don’t take that sinner from me.  
> Don't take that sinner from me.
> 
> CW: injury, blood, self harm in the context of blood magic

> _Oh Lord, Oh Lord, what have I done?_   
>  _I’ve fallen in love with a man on the run._

The knife had come from out of nowhere. The three templars who ambushed them had enlisted the aid of an Antivan Crow, and Hawke had to fight back a pained laugh at the absurdity of it all. These must be truly desperate times. They had been standing back to back, Anders behind her with all the force and fury of Justice behind every spell, and they’d taken down two of them when the third templar’s Silence hit her love a split second before the knife slid between his ribs. She felt him crumple behind her, and the world went red. She drove the blade of her staff into her torso and used the blood to rip the third templar and his pet assassin apart from the inside with her bare hands. The pain didn’t matter. She barely felt it in her adrenaline fueled rage, and by the time she came back to her senses she’d already used the residual life force of the corpses littering the clearing to heal her wound until the only thing left was a jagged, raised scar under her ribcage. He would be angry with her eventually, she knew, but it didn’t exactly matter what he’d think if he died here, would it?   
  
She dropped to her knees, a strangled sob escaping her lips as she yanked her cloak off and bundled it under his head. “Help me, Anders, love, what do I do?” she whispered desperately. Healing had never been her strong point. She knew how to knit scrapes and scratches together from her limited experience helping in his clinic, but this gaping wound in her lover’s chest was so far beyond her ability to fix with magic.   
  
“Rip the fabric,” he said after a few seconds, weakly in a ragged whisper. “You need to see what you’re working with.”   
  
_Maker_. _He was still alive. He was still conscious. There was still hope._ She popped the blade loose from the end of her staff and ripped the front of his robes open, and _holy Andraste_ there was so much blood, and she realized suddenly that the only blood she was used to handling in large quantities like this was her own. It was, she noted, entirely different when it belonged to someone else, and she suddenly felt weak and lightheaded.   
  
Anders squeezed her hand. “Stay with me, love.”   
  
“Shut up,” she whispered. “That’s your job.”   
  
He managed a weak smile. “You need something to hold against the wound once the knife is out.”   
  
_Done_. She’d pulled her robe off before he’d even finished speaking, shivering as the late autumn chill pressed against her sleeveless undershirt and skintight trousers. “Now what?”   
  
“Take it out.” He squeezed her hand again. “Do it fast. I think it missed all the vital bits. It’ll hurt but I’ll be okay.”   
  
“You better be,” she choked. The cry that tore from his mouth when she pulled the knife out practically ripped her in two. “I’m sorry,” she sobbed. “I’m so sorry.”   
  
“Press…hold the…against…” he gasped, his breathing ragged. Hawke nodded and pressed a wad of her robes against his chest, blinking back the tears that were flowing freely to the surface now.   
  
“Now what?”   
  
“Elfroot and mint,” he sputtered, taking both hand and holding them over the cloth. “Should be some growing. Chew it and spread it over the…over the…” His eyes fluttered closed.  
  
“Anders, don’t you dare,” she hissed. Maker. She placed her hands over his. “Hold this down. You better stay with me.” She glanced wildly around the clearing until her gaze landed on a small patch of both plants nearby. Thank the Maker. She stumbled toward them, ripped up a handful of each, and stuffed some of both into her mouth, ignoring the sharp, bitter flavor of the elfroot against her tongue. She spat the paste-like mixture into her palm. “Anders. Anders.” She grabbed his shoulder with the other hand and shook him gently. “Stay with me.” 

> _Oh Lord, Oh Lord, I’m begging you please,_   
>  _Don’t take that sinner from me._

“Spread it over the cut,” he mouthed, his whisper barely audible. “You’ll need magic for the next part. I’ll walk you through it.” His blood had soaked through all four folded layers of cloth when she peeled it back and dabbed the makeshift salve down, jumping slightly at the sharp intake of breath he made at her touch. “Good girl.” He patted her thigh weakly and smiled again. “Put your hand here.” He drew her palm over the wound. “Close your eyes and feel what’s underneath with your mind. Like…bundles of stems or twine.”  
  
“Okay,” she breathed, trying to still her racing thoughts. “Okay.”   
  
“You’ll feel a break in the middle. Tug them together. Think like you’re … matching colors. Not colors, but. You’ll know what I mean.”   
  
_Focus, Hawke._ She squeezed her eyes shut and pulled magic into her palms. Sure enough, there it was, a bundle of invisible threads lingering just below the surface of his skin, and she suddenly realized what he meant; she couldn’t necessarily “see” the matching pieces with her mind’s eye, but if she directed her concentration just enough, certain pieces just _fit_ together, and she steadily envisioned them mending, one by one, until the bundle no longer felt frayed in the middle. When she opened her eyes, she realized with a gasp of relief that his breathing had begun to steady. “That’s it,” he whispered, squeezing her hand again. “You’re doing such a good job. There’s bandages in my pack. Rinse the salve off and wrap it.”   
  
She dug through his bag with trembling fingers until she found what she was looking for. Linen fabric and waterskin in hand, she gently poured the water over his torso and brushed the crushed leaves away from his wound. He hissed at the cold sensation but patted her leg again encouragingly. After a few awkward attempts she managed to get the bandages around him and secured them in place with a pin. “Now what?”   
  
He laughed weakly. “Now we wait until my magic comes back. I’m proud of you, love.”  
  
Hawke sniffed and felt the tears coming back in full force. “I thought…I was so afraid you’d…”   
  
He shushed her gently and tugged at her arm. “Lie next to me. You’re shivering.” She yanked the wool blanket from her bedroll and draped it over them both as she curled up next to him, her head resting gently on his shoulder. “You know…we’re going to have to talk about what you did earlier eventually.”   
  
“You saw that, did you?” She grimaced. This was not a conversation she was ready for right now.   
  
To her surprise, he didn’t chastise her. He simply drew his arm around her protectively and held her as tightly against him as he could manage in his current state. “Thank you,” he whispered, his eyes fluttering closed again. She felt another sob rise to her lips, but she choked it back and let her tears fall silently into his sleeve as his breathing evened, slow and rhythmic. The Maker, or any other deity for that matter, hadn’t exactly been present figures in her life, but she found herself whispering desperate prayers then to whatever god would listen. Please, she whispered, voice tinged with desperation. 

> _Don’t take that sinner from me._

**Author's Note:**

> I know this isn't how a lot of people headcanon her, but I've always envisioned Mage Hawke as someone who isn't necessarily opposed to blood magic and doesn't have any qualms using it in desperate situations. Plus the animations in game are so badass. :B


End file.
